Unique
by Miaka Kennyuuki
Summary: Tudor is a straight laced, well bred town. Nothing interesting ever happens there. That is, until some new residents move in. HD
1. Unique 1

As a great man once said, "If you're one in a million, there are ten of you in New York." This is a fic about the struggle to be unique.

Miaka Kennyuuki

Genre: Humor/Romance

Category: Harry Potter

Pairings: H/D, etc

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: slash, language, a few Goth/Punk/Prep/RichKid cliches.

Disclaimer: See spot. See spot run. See spot run past the sign that proclaims my total legal unattachment to all things Harry Potter. See spot run faster when he sees my shrine to Draco Malfoy, nude pics and all. snicker

Summary: Tudor is a straightlaced, well bred town. Nothing interesting ever happens there. That is, until some new residents move in. slash

**UNIQUE - One**

He grinned as he twirled in front of the mirror, proud of his non-generic appearance. Baggy black pants with strips of orange hanging of them at odd intervals encased his legs, almost covering his fire truck red custom Vans sneakers. A glaringly orange tank top with the words "Mumble mumble...was I saying something?" emblazoned in green on the front, a red overshirt overlapping it, hugged his chest. His unruly black hair was streaked with dark green, matching his bright eyes. Red tinted prescription frameless glasses sat on his small nose, above his full, red lips.

Harry Potter, son of the head of Potter Records (a recording company) blew his mirror image kisses. "This is sure to shock those uptight nancy boys on Dad's board of directors," he said, grinning.

"Harry, really, must you piss off your Dad this much all the time?" asked Harry's cousin, Neville Longbottom. Neville had brown hair, brown eyes, a homely face, and a much more conservative style of clothing. He was dressed in straight legged khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt. His parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, worked with Harry's father promoting singers and songwriters for Potter Records.

Harry sighed. "You know I do, Nev. Dad used to be such fun. Now he's a stiff just like the rest of those rich bitch bastards on the board," he whined. "Remember when he was lead singer of the Marauders? He was so cool." He scowled. "But then that bloody prat Pettigrew sold them out for that new company, Voldemort Inc. Like he can even sing." Harry mimed spitting on the floor. After all, he was still the son of someone important. He couldn't _acually_ spit on anything.

"Sirius and Remus are still around, Harry. Sirius owns that motorcycle shop now, and Remus still sings sometimes. Eveyone's happy in their own way," Neville assured. "Don't worry so much. I'm sure Uncle James knows what he's doing."

"Sure, Nev," Harry scoffed. "If he signs that stupid bint Pansy Parkinson, regardless of her talents, I'll smack him so hard he'll forget he's English!"

"Whatever, Harry," Neville said, used to his cousin's rants. "If you're going to piss off your Dad, you might want to do it now. The meeting's letting out soon."

Harry grinned. "Right-O, Nev. You coming?" Harry said.

"No, Har. My birthday's coming up. I'd rather not piss off your Dad," Neville answered, laughing.

Harry looked confused. "My birthday's the same as yours, Nev," he said.

"Exactly, Harry. If you want that Firebolt, you're going to have to abort this mission," Neville pointed out. "Only two weeks away."

Pouting, Harry turned back to his reflection. He really did want that Kawasaki Firebolt model motorcycle. He grinned. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Maybe his father loosening up would be worth the Firebolt.

"Sorry, Nev. I'm on a mission. Dad needs to relax. I'm going to help. Hand me that screw driver," he said. Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Screw driver, Harry?" he muttered, handing the requested item to his off-the-wall cousin. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"Then don't ask," Harry sang. He pranced over to his bedroom door. "Stay here. I might need you for damage control later." Neville snorted. _That_ was a surety.

Following the hallway to his father's conference room, Harry ran a hand through his hair, straightened his shirts, dusted off his jeans, and prepared to piss his Dad off like nothing else.

Throwing the doors open, and manfully ignoring the shocked and resigned looks of the board (Harry did this at least once a month), Harry strutted into the conference room. He spotted his father right away. James Potter was a tall, brunette man with hair just as unruly as Harry's, eyes the color of burnished copper, and a build like a professional soccer player. His suit was almost two good for him. He seemed like a man that was more laid back, and would feel more at home in a hawaii shirt at a club than heading a board meeting.

Those copper brown eyes narrowed on his son as Harry strolled in and hopped onto the conference table. "Good morning, employees of Potter Records!" Harry said cheerfully. He grinned down at all of them. "Mr. Renly. Dr. Hilliard. Mrs. Phelps. Ms. Parker. Mr. Williams. And last but certainly not least...my good friend, Ms. Skeeter. How are you all?" Harry tried not to scowl at Rita Skeeter, the gold digging executive on his father's board. He considered them better acquited since he'd draped her car in toilet paper and given it a new hippy paint job when he'd discovered her putting the moves on his Dad.

"Have I got a show for you this morning, my lovelies." Harry grinned and threw a look at his Dad. "Pops, this is for you." James Potter supressed his growl, as well as the familiar feeling of amusement he'd fought ever since the Marauders broke up. He had no right to have fun and be happy after what he'd allowed Peter to do.

Harry stood fully and strutted to the center of the table. He pressed a button on a close by wall and rock music melody filled the room. The board of directors grimaced. Harry grinned. He brought he screw driver to his lips and began.

"_You are still burning,  
that flame that is turning,  
my smoldering ash into a bird_."

Harry sang, beginning to shake his hips to the beat.

"_So stay close my brother,  
I couldn't stand the loss,  
you are the bridge of action,  
I need you to help me cross.  
I need you to help me..._"

Harry danced across the long black conference table toward his father. He pointed at the disgruntled man and smiled.

"_So when you break  
my arms I'll take hold of you  
I know your heart's a hand that takes hold of me_."

Spinning around, Harry began his strut back to the other end of the table.

"_My hand that is breaking  
is the hand that is making  
all the dead things in me grow  
a gift of a holy loss  
this is burning at the dross._"

Closing his eyes and throwing a sway into his dance, Harry stepped toward and away from the executives periodically, annoying them but keeping their attention on him.

"_So when you break  
my arms I'll take hold of you  
I know your heart's a hand that takes hold of me._"

Harry danced toward his father again, but this time James didn't watch him. Reaching out a muscled arm, he grabbed his son around the waist and pulled him off the table. Harry was a fairly small boy, so he fit under his father's arm easily and was light enough to keep there. Harry squawked in surprise, then blushed when he realised that he was finally caught.

"Executives," James began, looking around at his employees. He waved his son's body at them. "My son, Harry Potter has annoyed and irritated you this morning. I think it fitting that you decide his punishment." At this, Harry began squirming in earnest.

"Da!" he whined, struggling to escape. James patted him on his black clad behind, which was open to the board's view.

"No, Harry. They deserve this chance. If it happens to be a harsh punishment, you brought it on yourself," James said calmly. He turned back to his board. "Well?"

"I think he should simply be spanked," said old Ms.Parker. "A little spanking never hurt anyone."

"Well, _I_ think you should cut his allowance," Mr. Williams suggested. "Kids these days are only rude and heathenish because they don't have the values that come with working a hard job."

"I second that notion," said Ms. Skeeter, oily smile plastered on her face. "But I think that will not be enough." The smile widened. "Didn't you say you were planning on moving to Tudor, Michigan (A/N: completely made up.) in a few months to relax before the new year's record boom? Why don't you send young Harry ahead of you, with a small allowance, meaning he would have to get a job?"

Harry froze. "Wha..?" he whispered, attempting to twist around to see his Dad's face. Moving? They were going to leave London and go to some weird American town for a few months? Wait, work? Harry would have to work?

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea. Harry will be seventeen soon, yes? He'll be able to get a fairly good job there," said Mrs. Phelps.

"Send him," grumbled Dr. Hilliard.

"Alright," James said, nodding at his board. Harry exploded in his arms.

"No!" he yelled. "No, no, no! Da, I don't want to!" He struggling to free himself so he could run away.

"Don't worry, Harry. We'll still celebrate your birthday here, so you can see your friends one last time. But the board has spoken. You _will_ go." Pressing a button on his phone, James patched himself through to security. "Emilio, can you please come up here and collect my son?"

_Right away, Mr. Potter._

"Thank you, Emilio." Hanging up, James turned back to his board. "While we wait for Emilio, was there anything else." The meeting continued as if it was never interrupted, and left Harry to stew against his father's hip.

If only Harry's mother was here. She'd know what to do. Lily Evans-Potter had been a force to be reckoned with. She never would have let his father get to this state. Hmph. Well, Harry wasn't going to take this lying down. Oh, no. People of Tudor, brace yourselves.

* * *

TBC.... 


	2. Unique 2

**Note**: I forgot to mention, the song used in chapter one is called "_Still Burning_" by **Sixpence None The Richer.** I apologize for not giving credit where credit is due.

Genre: Humor/Romance

Category: Harry Potter

Pairings: H/D, etc

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: slash, language, a few Goth/Punk/Prep/RichKid cliches.

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy is not mine. Neither is Harry Potter. Or Sexy Snape.........GOD, WHY?!!!

Summary: Tudor is a straightlaced, well bred town. Nothing interesting ever happens there. That is, until some new residents move in. slash

**Review Responses.....**

**not-yet-written:** thanks alot for the review. I'm not sure what's so great about this fic but I'll trust your opinion and strive to keep it interesting.

**Ganymade:** Harry likes you too. And you'll see about Draco this chapter. I think you have Seer blood in you. Thanks for reviewing.

**CuriousDreamWeaver: **thanks, babe. Yes, Harry is a bit of a flamer. This will only get better, I hope.

**ManIACjAcKaL: **interesting name. Thanks for the compliment. You certainly are a special person...thanks for the review.

**Demonio Espanol: **me hopey you likey this alot too.

**lita-2003: **This is for you, lita.

**UNIQUE - Two**

Quiet streets. Shops with relaxed atmospheres. People off doing something constructive. Children in school or at work or simply hanging out at the small mall in the center of the town. No one caused a ruckus. Ripples in the seamless efficiency of the town were nonexistent.

Welcome to Tudor, Michigan.

Most people in Tudor were content with the utter stillness, the quiet, the tranquility. It had been like that for years, and it would be like that for years to come. Or so the adults thought. They were blissfully unaware of the feelings of their children.

As in most towns, television was a major corrupter. MTV as well as CNN poisoned minds, until the younger generation grew restless with the absolute calm of Tudor. They wanted adventure, excitement, something different.

Little did they know that the TV God heard their prayers, and answered in a most spectacular way.

* * *

"--_Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you!_" sang Ernie MacMillan of the Loyalites, a fairly well-known pop group. His associates, Randy Borland, Michael Mitchell and Samson Tormy threw in their own melodious good wishes afterwards. 

At the head of the table, Harry Potter grinned and clapped along with everyone else. Though he missed the old days when his Dad was a singer, he had to admit that having world reknown singers at his birthday party was pretty cool.

Climbing onto the stage after the Loyalites left was former Marauder Remus Lupin and Harry's godfather (also former Marauder) Sirius Black. They were dressed in old concert outfits, and were grinning like crazy.

"Harry-boy, happy birthday, you little brat!" Sirius laughed.

"I'm not a brat, you old codger!" Harry returned, grinning. Sirius stuck out his tongue childishly, then turned to Harry's father.

"Jamie, come on up and serenade your boy before he goes away forever," he said, beckoning the former Marauder.

"No, no, Siri. I really can't," James muttered, laughing nervously.

"Of course you can," Remus said, smiling. "Once more for Prongs Jr., Jamie. Please?" Here, Remus gave James big puppy dog eyes.

James Potter sighed and proceeded to take off his dinner jacket. Harry and his friends, as well as the adult guests that remembered James's singing days, burst into applause. Blushing slightly, James hopped onto the stage.

"Go, Dad!" Harry shouted.

"You show 'em, Uncle James!" Neville added.

"Prongs! Prongs! Prongs!" chanted the remaining crowd. Everyone else was shouting either "Padfoot!" or "Moony!", the stage names of the other Marauders. Harry was especially excited. His father hadn't performed in nearly six years. It was about time.

He turned to his best friend, a sandy blond kid by the name of Seamus Finnigan. "Shay, you got your camcorder?" he asked.

"Aye, 'Arry," the Irish boy said, waving said electronic device. "You need it, wot?"

"Yeah. I want to tape my Dad. This is like, the first time in forever since he last performed." He grinned. "I'm going to sell it on eBay, since Dad plans to cut my allowance."

Seamus grinned, as well as Harry's other friend, a redhead by the name of Ginny Weasley. "I bet you'd get hundreds for it," she said.

Harry nodded. "Yep." Before he could say more, music began on the stage. It was one of the Marauder's old songs, _When I Look At The World._

James, Sirius and Remus spread out around the stage, compensating for Peter Pettigrew's missing spot, and immediately jumped into the song.

Sirius:  
_When you look at the world  
What is it that you see  
People find all kinds of things  
That bring them to their knees_

Remus:  
_I see an expression  
So clear and so true  
That changes the atmosphere  
When you walk to the room_

James, Remus, Sirius:  
_So I try to be like you  
Try to feel it like you do  
But without you it's no use  
I can't see what you see  
When I look at the world_

James:  
_When the night is someone else's  
And you're trying to get some sleep  
When your thoughts are too expensive  
To ever want to keep_

Sirius:  
_When there's all kinds of chaos  
And everyone is walking lame  
You don't even blink now do you  
Don't even look away  
_  
Remus, Sirius, James:  
_So I try to be like you  
Try to feel it like you do  
But without you it's no use  
I can't see what you see  
When I look at the world  
_  
Remus:  
_I can't wait any longer  
I can't wait 'til I'm stronger  
Can't wait any longer  
To see what you see  
When I look at the world  
_  
James:  
_I'm in the waiting room  
I can't see for the smoke  
I think of you and your holy book  
When the rest of us choke  
_  
Sirius, Remus:  
_Tell me, tell me  
What do you see  
Tell me, tell me_

James:  
_What's wrong with me_

As James's voice faded out, the crowd went wild. Harry leapt up onto the table and screamed out his appreciation. On stage, the three former rock stars blushed.

"Thank you," James said quietly into the mic.

"Yeah, thanks," Sirius said, waving his microphone and grinning.

"Ditto," Remus said, blushing while giving a low bow.

Harry climbed down from the table and ran up to his father, throwing himself into James's arms. "Da, that was wicked! When you...and then you...bloody brilliant!" Harry chattered, gesturing wildly while his father easily held him in his arms.

"Why, thank you, young Master Potter," James joked. "I'm not bad, if I do say so myself."

Sirius came up and cuffed James on the shoulder. "Not bad, he says. Prongsie here is the best the Marauder's could hope for, and don't let your Da tell you different, Harry-boy!" he said. He waved an arm behind him. "Tell 'im, Moony."

Remus came up on the other side of James. "Your father was a brilliant lead, Harry. I couldn't do it, and Padfoot certainly couldn't." At that Sirius pouted. "But we had our own talents. Guitar and drums and the like."

"I know all that," Harry said, a bit subdued as his father put him down. "I'm just glad I got to see Dad sing once more before I'm exiled to the middle of nowhere with no Hot Topic or FYE."

Seamus and Ginny appeared on Harry's other side. "Buck up, 'Arry. I'm sure you'll be fine. You'll make new friends, and you can call us," Seamus said. "And if all else falls, you can tear that unsuspectin' town apart." James frowned disapprovingly and the Irishman laughed.

"You said you were going to Tudor, Harry?" Ginny asked, looking thoughtful. At Harry's comfirmation, she smiled. "I've got a few brothers living thereabouts with my grandfather Bilius. You'll have instant friends."

"See, Harry? It won't be so bad. You'll stay with your mother's sister Petunia at the edge of town for the first few weeks, then I'll come down and help you move into the house," Sirius said. "You'll be just fine."

Harry looked around at his friends and family (minus Neville, who had to go back to his boarding school), and smiled. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He hoped they were right.

* * *

**TBC....**


	3. Unique 3

**Note:** I forgot, again! The song used in Chapter 2 is called _When I Look At The World_ by **U2**.

Also, I'd like to thank **DarkElf **for pointing out the Neville thing. You're right. He was there for Harry's party. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. You all are awesome! Kisses to all!

Genre: Humor/Romance

Category: Harry Potter

Pairings: H/D, etc

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: slash, language, a few Goth/Punk/Prep/RichKid cliches.

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy is not mine. Neither is Harry Potter. Or Sexy Snape...GOD, WHY!

Summary: Tudor is a straightlaced, well bred town. Nothing interesting ever happens there. That is, until some new residents move in. slash

All was quiet, as usual. Not a creature was stirring. As usual. Nothing was happening. At all.

And it was driving Draco Malfoyabsolutely nutters! Tudor, Michigan was so boring. Even after five years there, he hadn't gotten used to the utter stillness. He envied his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson. She'd managed to get out of this hick town by pitching her singing talent to some agent, and was now in England getting reviewed by two recording companies with weird names.

Draco hoped she was happy. He wasn't _that_ attached to her. He just wished she'd taken him with her. Now he was stuck in this nowhere town with only Pansy's old friends to hang out with. Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Theodore Nott weren't boring, per se, just really Tudor-generic. They watched the same movies, liked the same shows, went to the same school (which was unavoidable) and were generally in the same circle.

The people of Tudor were well bred, and Draco was no exception. His father owned a lumber company in one of the valleys that brought in millions a year, since the Malfoy's had discovered a way to speed the growth of trees. They were the leading in the industry simply for that. It didn't make Draco all that proud though. He was the child of a lumber baron. How boring.

Narcissa Black-Malfoy was much more interesting. His mother was actually English, born and bred nearer to Scotland than anything. She was also nobility, as well as from a powerful aristocratic family. The Blacks were known in the best social circles. Her only faux pas was marrying someone as plebeian as a lumber baron. Lucius Malfoy might have been handsome and successful, but he still dealt with something as coarse as wood.

Draco didn't mind his parents too terribly much in the looks department, anyway. His mother had given him milk white skin that glowed in the moonlight and looked untouchable in daylight. He received his natural white blond hair and steel grey-blue eyes from his father. His slim build was also from his mother. He was a handsome boy, and he knew it, though in the right lighting and situation, he looked decidedly feminine. He shrugged it off, though. With the assurance of Pansy, his masculanity was intact.

Currently, Draco was strolling down Bowie St. with Blaise, hoping something new and different would happen in Tudor. They passed the same old shrubbery, the same old generic 4 bedroom, 2 1/2 bathroom houses, the fire engine red motorcycle whizing by at high speeds, the...WAIT! Motorcycle!

Draco and Blaise froze at the same time, staring shock at the bright red motorcycle that stopped near them, two people seated on it. The "driver's" seat was taken by a tall man wearing a red helmet that obscured his features. Behind him was a small slime body, male from what they could tell, features also hidden by a red helmet. The motorcyclist inched his bike closer to the pair.

The driver pushed up his visor, revealing startling blue eyes. "Excuse me, can you tell us were the Dursley residence is?" he asked in a smooth, cheerful British accent. Dursley? They were looking for those weirdos?

Blaise simply stared but Draco recovered quickly enough. "They live on Privet drive, sir. Just down that road and take a right," he said, pointing. The motorcyclist's eyes brightened. Obviously he was smiling.

"Thanks," he said. He turned to the person behind him. "Say hi, Prongsie. These boys look about your age."

For a moment, the passenger did nothing, then he released the driver's waist and reached up to pull off his helmet. Draco and Blaise watched in rapt fascination. They'd been waiting for something new forever.

The helmet rose to reveal a slightly pointed chin, full red lips, a slim nose, glaring green eyes and unruly raven black hair. Draco stared. The boy was stunning.

"Hullo," the boy said, scowling. Apparently he wasn't happy with being there. Join the club.

"Hi," Blaise said cheerily, extending a hand. The boy simply looked at it, then away. Blaise pulled it uncomfortably back. "Um, I'm Blaise Zabini, and this is my friend Draco Malfoy. We live here in Tudor." As Blaise finished, the driver looked up.

"Did you say Malfoy? Narcissa's son?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco said simply, not sure where this was going. Excitedly, the man pulled off his helmet, revealing a long fall of ink black hair, a handsome face, and familiar blue eyes.

"Hullo, there. The name's Sirius Black. I'm your mum's cousin!" Sirius said excitedly, grabbing Draco's hands and shaking them enthusiastically. "This lump here is my god son, Harry Potter. In a bit of a mood right now. He'll come round." Sirius grinned. "Didn't know Narcy was here. Give her a hail for me, aye? I've got to go get this one settled." He pulled on his helmet and nudged his passenger to do the same. Once they were secure, Sirius set off, laughing.

Blaise and Draco stared at the spot they'd occupied. Blaise was the first to speak. "Rude, that one," he said, referring to Sirius's passenger, Harry Potter.

"Yes. And that other, he's mum's cousin? Have to ask her about that one. He did seem interesting, though," Draco mused, tilting his blond head slightly to the side. Suddenly, he smiled. "I wonder. Is Tudor about to become a little more exciting?"

* * *

Harry grumbled as Sirius pulled up in front of number 4 Privet Drive. He was finally here. His prison. His hell. The residence of Evil Petunia Evans-Dursley. This was the end of the old Harry Potter. He would now become a soulless shell of his former self, cursed to roam the earth without happiness. 

"Stop angsting, Harry-boy. It's not the end of the world. Besides, a teen can only do so much of that before they're exhausted," Sirius said, grinning. "Now, come on. If you make nice with the Dursleys and get settled quick enough, I might take you with me to visit Narcy. Haven't seen her in years."

At that, Harry grinned. He would get to see Draco again. That beautiful, radiant boy. He frowned. And with Harry's luck, straight as an arrow. He sighed.

"It's not that bad, Prongsie. I admit, I haven't seen Petunia in ages, but I'm sure she's less...severe than she was as a teenager. Married life probably mellowed her," Sirius said. He put a hand on his godson's shoulder and guided him to the door. "Go on, press the ringer there."

Harry obeyed. An old-fashioned, generic jingle passed faintly through the house. After several moments, the door was thrown open by...a Whale! Harry and Sirius could only stare at the huge boy before them. He had dark blond hair, beady black eyes almost disappearing into his fat cheeks, and a width that rivaled the equator. He was an abomination, and most likely the Eighth Wonder of the World.

"Who're you?" the strange creature asked, snorting slightly and looking annoyed. A half-eaten twinkie was gripped tightly in his fat fist. "Are you Johobo's witnesses? We don't go to church until Sunday. Go away!" And with that, the kid slammed the door.

Harry and Sirius stared in shock for a moment. What exactly had just happened? "Have we just been accused of being God's hoboes?" Sirius murmured.

"Atleast we weren't accused of being door-to-door salesmen. They're evil," Harry joked.

"Yep. Right up there with telemarketers," Sirius shot back. They both laughed. After they calmed down, Harry pressed the doorbell again.

"Please don't be the whale boy. Please don't be the whale boy," he muttered. He really didn't feel like dealing with the kid again. The door opened. Dammit. It was the whale boy.

He squinted his beady little eyes at them. "You again! Go away. My mum says we don't gotta deal with you people," he said sanctimoniously. He sounded like he was miming someone.

Inside, Harry grinned. Time to have some fun. "My son," he began in a deep, adult, important voice. "My name is Father Harronius Potson, and this is Father Seronis Blacker. We have come here to inform your family that there is a demon in your house. We must exorcise it immediately, or else..." Here Harry paused, hoping Sirius would jump in with something sufficient to scare the little brat.

"Or else the demon will eat all the food!" Sirius yelled suddenly. At that, the boy's eyes widened comically. Harry grinned. Then the boy began to wail. Harry winced. Whoops.

"MUMMY!" the boy wailed. A split second later, a tall, thin woman with a horselike face rushed into the entry way and wrapped her arms around the whale boy. Despite how long her arms were, she couldn't quite get them all the way around.

"What's wrong, Dinky Duddidums? Mummy's here," Petunia said, voice dripping honey and overexaggerated worry. "Who hurt my Duddy Doodles?"

Sirius raised a hand. "Er, that would be us, Tunia," he said, looking sheepish. The horse woman rounded on Sirius like a rabid monkey.

"I am _not_ surprise, Sirius Black! You are still a strange man like those others Lily kept bringing home. All those juvenile pranks." Petunia huffed, then glared at Harry. "I hope you haven't procreated since I last saw you."

Sirius scowled. "For your information, _Dursley_, Harry here is a Potter, not a Black. Your _sister_ procreated with James Potter. Luckily something," he glanced at Dudley, "human came out of the match." Petunia turned red.

"How dare you, you heathen!" she shrieked. "When my husband hears about this, he'll...!"

"I'll what, dearest?" came a booming voice from behind them. A whale of a man appeared behind Dudley. "Who are these people," he sneered, looking at them with disdain. Harry scowled and opened his mouth to tell the extremely large man what for, but Sirius beat him to it.

"Vernon Dursley. Haven't seen you since your last diet. Obviously it didn't work out," Sirius sneered right back. "How are you?"

"I was fine until _you_ appeared, Black. Get off my doorstep and back to Ireland or wherever!" Vernon snapped, face turning purple with rage. Harry snickered. Dudley and Vernon resembled each other more than ever like that.

"No can do, Vern. You see, Harry here needs a place to stay until we've finished furnishing his new house, and James can come down. We're prepared to...compensate you adequately for the incovenience," Sirius said. He handed Vernon a thick envelope.

Vernon opened it and peeked inside. "Very well, then," he muttered gruffly. "Bring the boy inside. Dudley, show Potter the spare bedroom."

"But Daddy!" Dudley whined.

"Now, Dudley!" Vernon snapped. Dudley pouted, but obeyed, entering the dark recesses of the house.

Sirius turned to Harry and enveloped him in a hug. "I'll wait here, Harry. Hurry up and take a looksee at your new room, then come back down so we can go see Narcy. I'm sure she'd get a kick outta you." He squeezed Harry's cheeks, then pushed him inside. Harry blew him a raspberry, then entered the house, tracing the loud footfalls up the stairs.

Dudley led him down a long hallway to a small room at the end. The room really was ridiculously small, with a cotlike bed in the corner and a small dresser. The closet was more like a shoe storage space. Harry frowned. His things certainly wouldn't fit here. But he wouldn't complain. His new home would be finished soon, and then he'd have all the space he'd ever need.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry headed back down the stairs and out the door to Sirius. "Hey, Siri, call up the movers, k? Tell them only to bring boxes 4, 8, and 19. The others definitely won't fit," he said.

"Will do, Prongsie. Ready to go?" Sirius asked.

"Most definitely, Padfoot. Shall we be off?" Harry said.

"Of course, young Prongs. Say goodbye to the nice lady."

"Goodbye to the nice lady." Here Sirius and Harry laughed while Petunia turned red with anger. The two dashed to the motorcycle, hopped on, and took off, laughing happily.

Petunia's eyes narrowed. She would enjoy breaking that boy.

* * *

TBC... 


End file.
